Grief is Golden, Shame is Silver
by sweet little nightmare
Summary: Magenta decides to make Riff pay for killing Columbia... Magenta/Columbia, Magenta/Riff


**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**The Rocky Horror Picture Show. **_**Oh, the fun I would have if I had that honour... *evil cackle***

**A/N: This is my very first RHPS fanfic, funnily enough (I actually am quite surprised I haven't written one sooner). It's from Magenta's point of view, and it takes place after she and Riff-Raff return to their home planet of Transylvania.**

Grief is Golden; Shame is Silver

It's much colder back home than it is on Earth. I remember how exhausting I'd found the heat of that dust-encrusted planet when we first arrived there, and I'd thought that the chill air of Transylvania would be an enormous relief, the wind running its light hands over my skin to make me shiver in rapture.

In reality, I spend the first couple of days back on my beautiful home planet cowering in the relative warmth of my castle, wrapped in the thickest cloak I can find (an ugly grey thing that looks as if it would be more at home on Earth than here).

I am ecstatic. Really. I am radiant. I am thrilled to be back. _I am._

I tell myself this every day, ardently, fervently. I need to feel passion, get lost in the heat of it, so by night I slink into Riff's bedroom and wind myself around him, grinding up against him and dragging my nails down his back. I know how to make him beg. I lose myself in wild, free abandon and ecstasy. By day, I catch up with old friends I have not seen in years; we sing together, and dance the Time Warp until we're ready to drop. It's as though nothing has ever changed, or so I tell myself.

I almost have myself convinced until, one violet-skied morning, I wake in Riff's bed. I've stolen all the blankets and sheets, as usual, but they have tangled around my legs in a tight cocoon. My arms an torso, completely bare and alabaster-pale, are freezing. There are bite marks on my breasts; on my neck; on my right shoulder. Riff was never what I'd call gentle, but I like my men savage and untameable. I like my women impulsive and irrepressible. Like Columbia.

_Columbia. _Suddenly the cold is bone-deep. I reel and gasp and shudder as the memory of her crashes over me. The rollercoaster of passion and pleasure mingled with a sort of affectionate irritation of her at the time. Because my God, she was such a _child _in so many ways. But she was like no one I've ever met before. For us, it's all about being as insane, as pretentious, as innovative as we can; that's where we get our pleasure. But Columbia, she just loved _life. _And she loved Frank. I'd like to believe that she loved _me _as well, but that's hopelessly naive.

I didn't know that I loved _her_ until she was gone. I didn't realise that the thrall she held me in was not just a lust, a physical yearning, of the sort that I've felt for Riff. For all the other lovers I've had. I didn't know until Riff pointed that laser at her and sent her sprawling through the air like an extravagant rag-doll. And then I laughed. I laughed at my own stupidity, to cover up the hideous, wet tearing sound of my heart being rent in two. God. Columbia. _Columbia._

And suddenly I cannot bear to lie beside Riff any longer. The fact that I am in bed with Columbia's murderer drives itself into my mind with sharp, searing clarity. _Oh, Riff. You were all I had in that dread place, and I loved you so. What have you done? Why have you made me hate you? Why have you made me want to tear you up into little pieces and scatter them far and wide?_

I want to kill him. I _need _him dead. I'll laugh over his entrails, smear them all over that shabby suit he wears. I'll inflict on him a pain a thousand times worse than that which he inflicted on poor Columbia.

I _will._

And now the long, silver knife – Frank's knife; Riff's _trophy – _is in my hand, and I'm crying out in excruciating exultation as I slash at bare skin, rip and twist at exposed flesh. There is blood on the sheets. There is blood on my hands. It is Frank's blood and Rocky's blood and Columbia's blood.

It is my blood.

It's a huge effort to control my movements, now. A huge effort to hold the knife. My body is being pulled inexorably back down onto the bed by some invisible force. _Sleep, Magenta, sleep._ But I won't sleep. Won't rest. Won't _die. _Not yet. I want it to be terrible for him. Terrible beyond words. I want him never to forget this moment. I want him to yearn for me and desperately wonder what pushed me over the edge. I want him to die for me as I died for Columbia.

Riff's eyes flicker confusedly open as I let out a last, blood-curdling scream. I thrust the knife straight into my throat with as much force as I can muster. As if from a distance, I hear the scream taper off into a pathetic gurgle. I fall back onto the bed, my world a whirling void of colour.

Somewhere, far away above me, Riff is calling my name.

I think I can feel my dying body smile triumphantly. I have given him an awakening he will remember for the rest of his days.


End file.
